Waiting
by Cheeky Jake
Summary: When their mother is injured, Albus and Lily Potter are sent to the Headmaster's office to wait for news.  Their conversation is overheard by a particular portrait.  Because everyone has to write one.


When Neville Longbottom, Herbology Professor and Head of Gryffindor House, found the student he was looking for, Albus Potter was seated next to Scorpius Malfoy at the very end of the Slytherin table, comparing Potions notes. To the utter horror of Scorpius' father, and the unending astonishment of Albus', the two boys were best friends, and had been for almost all of their nearly seven years at Hogwarts.

Scorpius looked up from his parchment to find Professor Longbottom approaching. He kicked Albus under the table.

"Longbottom's coming. He doesn't look happy. What did you do, Al?"

"Nothing," hissed Albus, turning as soon as the professor reached the table.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Professor Longbottom with a nod. Scorpius nodded back, and then the professor's attention was turned toward the green-eyed boy sitting next to him. "Potter, I need to speak to you and your sister."

"Did my dad-"

"Your dad's fine, Potter. Get Lily . . . Come with me."

With a furtive glance at Scorpius, who promised to bring his books and parchment to the Gryffindor common room, Albus rose to find his sister.

Lily Potter was seated at the Gryffindor table, an adoring but shy Ravenclaw boy next to her, trying to join in the conversation with Lily was having with a friend. Albus had never been certain which of the girls that particular Ravenclaw preferred – he rather suspected the boy would have taken either, or both – but his sister's dating life was of little importance at the moment he put his hand on her shoulder.

Lily looked up. "Albus?" she questioned.

"Come with me, Lil." The petite fifth-year looked to the head of the table, where Professor Longbottom waited with a serious look on his usually congenial face. She was instantly horrified.

"Is it Dad?"

Albus shook his head. "Neville says Dad's fine," he said. "Come on."

Lily knew her father's job was dangerous and knew that her cousins – several of whom surrounded her, concern etched into their faces – would also be on their way to see Professor Longbottom if her grandparents were ill. She felt herself go a little cold, reasoning that there was likely something wrong with her Mum, or maybe her elder brother James, who played professional Quidditch for Puddlemere United, had gotten injured during practice or a match. Albus assured his cousins he'd fill them in as soon as he could, and then followed Lily.

Once out in the hallway with their family friend and head of house, Albus and Lily both turned to look expectantly at the professor. He drew a breath and began to explain.

"It's your mum," he began. "She was covering a match today in Wales and there was an accident – some of the stands collapsed. She's got some broken bones, but those are all right . . . she has some head injuries, though, that the healers at St. Mungo's are concerned about. Your dad's going to be here to see you as soon as your brother gets to the hospital to be with her. You're to wait in the Headmaster's office . . . I'll let your cousins know. Go on."

Lily and Albus nodded, and taking each other's hands, went in the opposite direction of Professor Longbottom.

When they reached the stone gargoyle, it moved aside to let them pass, and they stepped hesitantly onto the revolving staircase. Once inside the office itself, they quietly chose seats on the opposite side of where the Headmaster sat at his desk. Neither knew what to do except wait, thoughts swimming in their heads.

"Lily, talk about something."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know . . . anything. I can't stand the silence. What classes did you have today?"

"Only Potions. I'm rubbish at it. . . . Not as bad as James, but still."

Albus snickered. "No one's as bad as James," he replied, to reassure his sister. "But James hasn't any patience. You have, if only you'd use it."

Lily looked up at him. "Wouldn't be as good as you, though," she replied. "You've always been brilliant at Potions."

Albus blushed a little and replied, "It's my favorite, though. Your favorite is Charms; it's your best subject."

"I need to get better marks in Potions, though. I need an O on my Potions OWL if I have any chance of becoming a Healer."

"You just need patience," he said. "You have to follow instructions carefully and be precise . . . you'll get to experiment later."

"Do you get to?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "NEWT Potions is a lot of work, though."

"Something to look forward to, eh?"

Albus smiled. "I love potions. It's the best part of being magical."

"I always thought you loved potions because James hated it, and you wanted to be better than him at something."

"That's always been a definite benefit," he replied. "Got me more time with Mum, too. And since Dad's almost as bad at it as James . . . I don't know. Sometimes, when he sees my marks, or listens to me ramble on about it, it seems like . . . he's not just proud, but . . . impressed. A little awed, maybe."

"I think he is in awe of you, a little. Of James, too, when he watches him play."

"James is a brilliant chaser." Albus drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He does everything that way, though – just goes after what he wants without fear. I envy him sometimes for that."

"Why? He comes across as such a git most of the time. I mean, he means well and all, but still."

"Because he's got a girlfriend and I haven't," admitted Albus. This was something he would only have admitted to his kind sister, who was sensitive enough not to tease him about it.

"James has only ever had cows for girlfriends, though," replied Lily. "But don't you like someone . . . ?" A smile crept across her freckled face.

"Shut up, Lily." Albus scowled, but his cheeks turned pink.

"A very pretty Slytherin girl I know looks at you an awful lot in the Great Hall. That's all I'm saying."

Albus sighed and closed his eyes. He certainly enjoyed looking at Aurora Greengrass himself, whenever he could catch a glimpse of her. James loved curvy blondes, but Albus would take the petite Aurora any day – her clear blue eyes and raven mane had taken to haunting his dreams.

"You know," said Lily, interrupting his thoughts, "Scorpius is her cousin. Maybe you could pick a different lab partner in Potions once . . . he could help you."

Albus smiled. "I've thought of that, too," he confessed. "Just need to pluck up some of that Gryffindor courage I'm supposed to have."

Lily returned her brother's smile, and they fell silent for a while. Just as she sensed the quiet was becoming too much for Albus, she asked, "So what are you going to do, once you're done here?"

"Keep studying Potions," he replied. "I want to come back and teach."

"I thought you'd say that." Lily smiled affectionately.

"James still thinks I should try out for Puddlemere's open Seeker position. I love Quidditch . . . but I don't think he realizes how much I love the lab."

"James has tunnel vision sometimes. All he can see is what he wants. It's sweet, though, that he wants to play Quidditch with his brother."

Albus smiled. "Yeah. Too bad I don't want to make potions with mine. I'd rather stay intact."

Lily laughed. "Did he really toss a whole ginger root into a half-brewed cauldron full of calming potion?"

"Yes, he did. His fourth year. He was pretty mortified when Dad wrote to congratulate him on being the worst potioneer in the family – worse than Uncle Ron. I think he was more embarrassed at that than when he got a howler from Mum in his fifth year."

Lily was laughing when they heard the door open; they both stood and looked anxiously at the Headmaster. Their father followed him in.

Lily was on her feet asking questions immediately. He hugged her, shushed her, then hugged Albus. "Mum's hurt, but she'll be all right," he reported, looking more tired and careworn than his children had ever seen him. He explained her injuries and how they were being treated, and then said, "James is with her now. She's sleeping . . . they say she should be able to come home in a few days."

"Bring her some lavender," said Albus, his green eyes glinting with unshed tears. "It'll help her rest."

Harry Potter smiled at his son. "You can bring it to her yourself," he replied. "Your Headmaster's going to let me take you to St. Mungo's to see her."

Both children nodded, relieved and thankful that they'd be able to see for themselves.

The Headmaster invited the Potters to use the Floo there in his office, and then headed back to the Great Hall to advise Professor Longbottom of the students' whereabouts.

Lily left first, with instructions from her father. Albus left next, his head full of what he could brew to help his mother recover. Harry himself was about to step into the fireplace when he heard a haunting voice call his name.

"Potter," it said, the tone as impatient as he'd ever heard it in life.

Surprised, he looked up. He knew the voice and knew from which portrait it had come. He stepped over to it, curious.

"Hello, Professor."

Severus Snape's black painted eyes flicked toward the fireplace. "Your son and daughter?"

"Yes, the youngest two. I'm sure you've seen my eldest . . . far too often."

"Yes, Potter – _that_ is an aptly named child if ever I saw one," was Snape's reply. He was quiet a moment, and then said, "Am I to understand from the sentimental drivel I was just subjected to that your son – _Albus_, apparently – is actually capable of brewing an effective potion?"

"Yes," replied Harry, smiling. "We're very proud of him. He's also a natural leader . . . as aptly named as his brother."

Snape turned his beady eyes upon The Boy Who Never Failed To Get Under His Skin. "You think because you saddled your son with the name of a great wizard, he instantly becomes one?"

"He is one," insisted Harry. "He's an excellent potioneer, Professor – maybe even as good as his namesake."

"I beg your pardon – the child you called Albus? Has the Hogwarts Board of Governors lowered its standards, Potter? Albus Dumbledore couldn't brew tea."

"His name is Albus Severus," said Harry quietly.

Snape's surprise was evident. "And for what reason," he asked, his silky, snarky voice unchanged by death, "have you chosen to curse your offspring with not one, but two horrible names?"

"To say thank you," said Harry, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "To honor two great men."

Snape looked away, his sallow painted face unreadable.

"If you prefer, I could call him something else . . . build a statue for you at the Ministry. That's what most people wanted to do after the war."

Snape scowled at him, and then looked away again.

"I need to get to my kids and wife, Professor, so if there's nothing else . . ."

Snape waved his hand to dismiss Harry, who turned around and headed to the fireplace again. Once more, just before he stepped into the grate, he heard his name.

"Potter."

Harry turned, brow lifted. "Yes?"

"He's a fine boy."

Harry smiled. "I think that might be the only compliment you've ever given me." He took a fistful of Floo Powder then, and turned back to the portrait. "I wouldn't trade it for anything," he said, making sure he met Snape's eyes, before he stepped into the grate and was gone in a flash of green.

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


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